


Cookies

by f0rcryin0utl0ud



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22353667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f0rcryin0utl0ud/pseuds/f0rcryin0utl0ud
Summary: John came home to the smell of burnt cookies and a kitchen that looked like it’d been hit by a bomb…made of flour.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old Supernatural story that I never got around to posting. It is unbeta'ed.

John came home to the smell of burnt cookies and a kitchen that looked like it’d been hit by a bomb…made of flour.

Dean was standing at the sink, hair sticking straight up—John assumed it was the cookie dough as his son hadn’t yet started using hair-gel. Sammy was sitting at the table, hands covered in dough and chocolate, face just as bad. His hair was almost white from the flour and he was grinning from ear to ear.

On top of the stove was a cookie sheet with little black lumps, still steaming. John tried very hard not to burst out laughing. When he cleared his throat, Dean spun on his heel, eyes wide. Then his son—with two floured handprints on the front of his shirt—narrowed his eyes. “It’s not my fault.”

John nodded gravely, walking into the kitchen and sitting down across from Sammy. “Chocolate chip?” He asked his youngest.

Sammy’s head bobbed up and down, smile still splitting his face, buck teeth and chubby cheeks making him look a little like a deranged chipmunk. “Want some?” He held out a lump of uncooked cookie dough to John like he was offering a piece of gold. John reached out and popped the dollop of dough into his mouth.

“So did any survive the sacrificial fire?” He asked innocently, smirking when Dean just snorted.

“They’re better raw.” Sammy piped up, stuffing another handful into his mouth.

“You’re going to get worms eating that.” Dean sighed, sounding much older than his thirteen years.

“Am not.” Sammy said around his full mouth.

“Maybe we better save the rest.” John suggested, snagging the bowl from Sammy’s sticky fingers. “It’s pretty good cooked too.” He winked at Sam.

“Dean keeps burning ‘em.” Sam said flippantly and John saw Dean’s shoulders tense.

“This stove is a piece of crap.” Dean muttered, not turning around.

John got up from the table, carried the bowl to the counter and placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Wanna give it another shot?” Mary had been a horrible baker. She could cook a five star meal, but ask her to bake something and you’d be guaranteed indistinguishable charred lumps, much like the ones Dean killed today. John smirked. Mary would have been covered head to toe in flour just like the boys, laughing and telling them it was the stove’s fault—just like Dean. He reminded John so much of Mary.

Squeezing Dean’s shoulder, he grabbed the pan, scraping away the burnt remains of Dean’s—from the look of the garbage can—fourth or fifth batch of cookies. Placing spoonfuls onto the sheet, he checked the oven, shaking his head and turning the temperature to 350. Sliding the pan into the oven, he clapped his hands together and turned to his boys. “What should we do while we wait?”

“Eat more cookie dough!” Sammy crowed, already slipping from his chair en route to the bowl on the counter. Scooping Sammy into his arms, causing his son to admit a high pitched squeal of delight, John plopped him back in his seat at the table.

“I think you’ve had enough, little man.” John ruffled Sam’s hair, causing a cloud of flour dust to fill the air. “Have you both finished your homework?” From Dean’s sigh, John figured he’d attempted to make Sam sit still long enough to do it but in the end had given up. Though they often argued, all Sam had to do was give Dean his puppy dog eyes and Dean caved. John had no doubt the cookie adventure had been all Sammy’s idea. “I’ll take that as a no.” John chuckled, shooing Sam towards the small bedroom off the kitchen. “Grab your stuff, kiddo, and we’ll finish it while we wait.” Sam raced to the room for his school bag; Dean already slouched at the table, scribbling out equations. Despite the complaints Dean muttered at his books on a fairly regular basis, John knew his son was smart—a lot smarter than he let on.

Ten minutes later John pulled out the sheet of perfectly golden cookies, setting them on a rack to cool. Sammy filled his journal for class with details about his day making cookies with Dean, and Dean rolled his eyes, but John could see the smile underneath. Dean was pleased that Sam had enjoyed the failed attempt at baking—even if he wouldn’t admit it.

When all their homework was done and John had made the boys shower and get ready for bed, he filled a plate with cookies and poured three large glasses of milk, setting them on the table. Both Sam and Dean dug in like ravenous wolves and John laughed, thankful once again that his sons were with him, were safe.

He’d be leaving for another hunt in a few days, but kept that to himself for the time being, instead just enjoying spending time with his boys.


End file.
